


in the fall we sleep all day

by chilipepperconverse



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, During Canon, First Kiss, Fluff, Fondling, HOWEVER!, Just in general, Kissing, Literal Sleeping Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Neck Kissing, Part of it Anyway, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Sharing a Bed, Touch-Starved, basira and martin can have sibling energy bc i said so, gets a little raunchy i will say, so it doesnt quite go there, thats also a tag for me, uhhhhh, uhhhhhhhhh, you know the very beginning of 160? its that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:41:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27990186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chilipepperconverse/pseuds/chilipepperconverse
Summary: The first two nights spent in the safehouse are wildly different from each other.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 18
Kudos: 146





	in the fall we sleep all day

**Author's Note:**

> (puts on my clown shoes) yes i wrote another safehouse fic I KNOW i am predictable!!!!
> 
> don’t have much to say about this one other than it’s kept me sane for the past month, and also i put more energy into it than my original story for my creative writing class. jonny sims i hope you know what youve done.
> 
> title is taken from lakehouse by of monsters and men, pls oh pls listen to it it has massive safehouse jonmartin energy
> 
> enjoy!! 💙💙

_ “ Shit. ” _

Jon blinked out of the trance he’d fallen into from staring at the road. Beside him, Martin’s eyes were wide and his hands were covering his mouth in shock. Despite his weariness, Jon chuckled at the sight.

“What, did you forget something?” He asked. “It’s a bit too late to turn back.”

Martin nervously twisted the corners of the blanket he’d wrapped himself in. He turned to look out the window, trying to hide the redness that was spreading across his face. “N-no, I just— I said it, didn’t I?”

“Said... what?”

Making a noise halfway between a sigh and an agitated groan, Martin repeated, “When we were... in there. I said  _it_.”

“Said  _what_ , Martin?” Jon asked again, the smallest hint of exasperation in his tone.

Unbidden, the answer to his question appeared in his mind, and Jon couldn’t tell if it was the Eye or his memory that gave him access to it. His heart jumped. Suddenly, everything in the car felt incredibly still, even as the countryside rushed past them beyond its doors.

“...Oh.”

“You know, don’t you?” Martin asked quietly, pulling the blanket further around his shoulders.

Jon nodded, overwhelmed with the weight of the words he was remembering. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, the racing of his heart urging him to drive faster, as if that would help matters in any way. 

“You said you loved me.”

In his peripheral vision he watched Martin curl up in the partially-reclined seat, facing him, but avoiding eye contact. His round, blushing face was pushed against the seat’s back, knocking his glasses slightly out of place. After a few agonizingly long moments, he looked up at Jon, who loathed the fact that he couldn’t meet his gaze fully. 

“I—” Martin stopped, and took a careful breath. He spoke so softly it was almost lost to the rumbling of the engine. 

“I still do.”

The hair on the back of Jon’s neck stood up. It was something he’d known for almost a year now, but hearing it directly sent a chill down his spine. His mind was thrown into chaos— in the short time since hearing Martin’s first confession, Jon had wondered if it still rang true, and he’d honestly been doubtful. How could Martin still love him in the face of all he had done? Jon hadn’t thought to hold out hope, and yet all he would have hoped for had just come to fruition, leaving him elated, dazed and dumbfounded.

Martin studied Jon’s expression, worriedly looking for any sign of disgust or rejection. He brought his hand to his mouth and began chewing on his nails, recoiling at the taste of the polish that usually deterred him. The heavy silence twisted knots into his stomach. 

“I-I’m sorry— I shouldn’t have—” he stammered, rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to force away any tears before they came. 

But before he could continue with his apology, Jon extended his hand and took Martin’s, coaxing it out to the space between them. 

Jon’s heart was still running circles around his head, and the shakiness of his grip was no mask for it.

All that stretched out before them were miles and miles of rolling hills, drenched in the grey fog of early morning. Not a car in sight. Confident that he could do so safely, Jon stole a glance at Martin. 

He was still slumped against the seat, his arm peeking out from under the blanket. Martin’s eyes were shining, but no tears fell. His mouth hung open just enough for his lips to part— Jon did his best not to look at them.

“You don’t need to apologize, Martin,” he said gently. It damn near killed him to look back to the road. On the cusp of an exhale, he professed, “I do, too.” 

Martin blinked, frozen in disbelief, tears shoved to the far points of his eyes. “Y-you…?”

Without elaboration, Jon leaned over, carefully raised Martin’s hand to his lips, and kissed it. His eyes closed briefly before he lowered their joined hands back down.

The shock sent any lasting doubts Martin had careening out the window. He sat there, his insides twisting and fluttering, all while he remained completely still. 

“Jon…” he sighed, all his longing escaping him with sheer amazement. 

“Why don’t you try and sleep, okay?” Jon murmured, a shy smile forming on his lips. He stroked the back of Martin’s hand with his thumb, his eyes still on the road ahead. “I can drive for a couple more hours.”

Martin could only stare, awe and adoration bursting from his every seam. After their escape the night before, bags packed hastily in a blur of adrenaline, sleep felt like an entirely alien concept. Jon had driven for hours through the dark without so much as a yawn, while Martin had kept his eyes glued to the windows, watching for anyone— or anything— that could’ve been following them. But now, in the faint light of early morning, with his heart full, he could finally relax. 

“Y-yeah,” Martin conceded, using his other hand to take off his glasses. He leaned on the middle console, draping himself over it and using his elbow like a pillow. It wasn’t exceedingly comfortable, but if it meant being just a little closer to Jon, Martin was fine with it. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes. “Good idea.”

* * *

It was night again by the time they reached the house. Tucked away by winding roads, it sat nestled among a couple of conifer trees, bracing against the hills that surrounded it and the village nearby like waves.

“Is this it?” Martin asked, craning his neck and leaning on the steering wheel. 

Jon squinted at the map beneath the overhead light. “I think so? It should be.”

Martin pulled the car onto the barely-there dirt path that passed for a driveway. With a decisive push of the gear shift to ‘park,’ he took a deep breath and said, “Guess there’s only one way to find out, right?”

Up close, the cabin somehow looked even smaller. Through the nearest window to him, Jon could see some faded curtains and the back of a couch across the room. He nodded. 

“Let’s see if the key fits.”

Laden with their backpacks and suitcases, the two of them trudged up to the front door, where the key Basira had given them slid perfectly into the lock. The door swung open with a small creak. 

Inside, the air was stale. Dark, cold, and stuffy, it was evident the house had been neglected by how still it felt. The amount of dust wasn’t overwhelming, though, as the shut windows had prevented any extra from blowing in. 

Jon hit the light switch, wincing when the bulbs overhead flickered for a moment before casting everything in a warm yellow glow. He relaxed, shoulders falling in time with his exhale. They’d made it.

Martin touched his arm, hesitant and light. He offered an affectionate, reassuring smile when their eyes met, filling Jon with a wave of thrilled disbelief at their situation.

The main room of the cabin was half kitchen and half living room, but they could investigate further in the morning. Martin set all their bags down next to the entryway and followed Jon to the doors along the back wall, each of which were barely cracked open. 

“Two bedrooms,” Jon mused, opening the farthest door and looking in. “And there’s a bathroom between them.”

“...Two?” Martin asked weakly. Opening the door closest to the kitchen, he could see a bed, one much too large for only one person. He’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t sink a little. “Ah... okay.”

“Alright. I’ll... take this one, then, if you’re okay with that larger one.”

Martin only nodded, failing to hide his dejection as he picked up his bag. 

“It’s just— It’s only been a day, Martin, not even,” Jon said as he gathered his things. He didn’t sound convinced by his own words, looking away as he spoke them. “We shouldn’t go right to sleeping in the same bed, I don’t think.”

Martin was too tired to argue. He nodded again, trying to ignore the pit in his stomach as he retreated into the doorway. 

“No, you’re right,” he said, giving his best encouraging expression. Martin exhaled as much of his stress as he could. “Goodnight, Jon.”

A wistful smile. “Goodnight.”

Despite his exhaustion, sleep evaded Jon at every turn. He’d picked the room with the smaller bed out of courtesy, but the twin mattress may as well have been a cement block. Jon was sure that this bed hadn’t been slept on in years, even whenever Daisy had last set foot in this house. 

And it was  _cold_. So  _impossibly_ cold. Not enough to make him shiver, but Jon couldn’t help but feel a profound absence now that Martin wasn’t at his immediate side. He groaned and dragged his hands down his face. Why did he still care about formality at a time like this? He had been so protective of Martin up until now, fearing that if he was out of sight for even a moment he could have slipped back into the Lonely. But when faced with something as trivial as not having an excuse to share a bed, Jon shrunk back. He defaulted to normal etiquette, as if  _anything_ about their situation was normal. With trepidation, Jon reached into his well and peered through the walls separating him from Martin. Seeing he was still there, he breathed a sigh of relief and rolled over in an attempt to sleep off the rest of his nerves.

Martin usually slept curled up on his side. But he was also used to sleeping in a bed much smaller than the one he found himself in. The duvet practically swallowed him up, rolls of soft, feather-stuffed fabric piled around him until all that peeked out was Martin’s face. There was so much of it, and so little of him. Logistically, he knew he took up half the bed, but there was enough space for him to be aware of the part that was empty.

His mind raced with all the events of the past 48 hours. He’d started them hundreds of miles away, believing, among other things, that he would never see Jon again. The difference in everything between then and now was staggering. Martin’s world had once again turned on its head, but this time that meant running into the Highlands with the man he’d pined after for years, knowing he was loved in return. He was so caught up in the excitement of it all that tuning out and dozing off fully wasn’t really an option.

Jon’s hopes of finding sleep wilted more and more with the increasing visibility in the room, and when the first rays of sunlight poked through the curtains, they died altogether. With a sigh, he threw the covers off and rolled out of bed. Maybe he would have better luck resting on the couch. 

Martin was unsure if he had actually slept, drifting in and out of consciousness all night. The knot in his stomach hadn’t gone away. He tried to believe it was just anxiety from the new environment, but Martin had never been good at lying to himself. When the sun was high enough to shine directly in his eyes, he sat up to meet the day. 

Walking into the main room, Martin caught sight of a black and grey mop of hair spilling over the arm of the couch. Reflexively, he felt himself smile.

“Jon? You awake?” He whispered. 

Almost immediately, Jon pushed himself up and rubbed his eyes. “Unfortunately.”

Martin chuckled. “Didn’t sleep either, then?”

He rounded the corner and plopped down in the spot Jon made for him. Without any hesitation, his partner scooted closer, just enough for their shoulders to touch. Jon sighed theatrically and threw his head back. 

“Nope,” he replied. “Not a wink. I... hm.” He stared at the ceiling for a moment, running through his excuses before abandoning them. If he was going to be with Martin, he had to start speaking from the heart.

“Would you... call me a hypocrite,” Jon began carefully. “If I... asked to move to your room? With you?”

As soon as he uttered the words, Martin’s eyes lit up. “What? No, not at all!”

Jon picked his head up and looked at him. He was dimly aware of his racing heartbeat, screaming at him to both run away and lean in closer.

“You’re sure?”

Martin nodded, a warm smile on his face. He wasted no time climbing off the couch and making his way to the room Jon had slept in. 

“Let’s get these in there first,” he beamed, coming out with Jon’s bags a moment later.

Of course, Martin had thought to bring tea, so he set about making some before they began the task of unpacking. Remarkably, the cabinets had a set of dishes in alright condition, as well as a few plastic cups and decorative plates.

“Do you think Daisy only got this place as a way to hide all of her fancy china?” Martin joked. “The most elaborate safe: a literal house!”

Jon snickered, sitting down at the breakfast bar. “Honestly wouldn’t surprise me. She managed to hide those radio dramas from us for so long, who knows what other tidbits we never knew?”

The two of them sat together, talking and drinking their tea while the morning sunlight poured in from the window. Every so often, one of them would stop in the middle of a sentence, taken aback by how  _right_ this all felt. Here was the person he loved, awash in the soft light of an autumn morning, steam from the mug clutched in his hands rising around his smiling face.

Once the tea was gone, Jon offered to clean up and let Martin decide whose stuff would go where. 

“Just pick the drawers you want, I’ll fill in the rest,” he said. “Oh, and I’m okay with either side of the bed.” 

High off of how blissfully  _normal_ that phrase was, Martin couldn’t wipe the smile from his face as he started to sort through his clothes. As they settled in, time passed in a slow, gentle blur, both of them bumbling around the cabin. Their hands brushed past each other as they put clothes away, one’s eyes would settle on the other from across the room, and every time one of them left to unpack things for the kitchen or bathroom, the other would feel his absence. 

Martin had mostly finished unpacking, giving his possessions spots to live in for however long their stay might be. The lack of sleep, though, seemed to be catching up fast. His eyelids were getting heavy, and nothing was holding his attention as his movements became slower. The second Jon showed any signs of tiredness— a small yawn as he bent down to pick up a shirt— Martin had an idea that made his heart jump.

He treaded lightly over to the dresser where Jon had been working on putting away his clothes. Once behind him, Martin let his hands hover around Jon’s waist for a moment, giving him the chance to break away. But he stayed right where he was, allowing Martin to fully embrace him. Jon leaned back into him, sighing dreamily when his back met the warmth of Martin’s chest, and the reality of where he was and who he was with hit him again with full force. 

“Wanna just go back to bed?” Martin suggested, his voice low. 

The clothes were left forgotten, half-hanging out of the dresser. Jon took the hand offered and followed him to the bed, wide-eyed and eager after getting the smallest taste of what Martin’s arms felt like around his body. 

Martin pulled the covers back and climbed under them, rolling over to let Jon do the same. He burrowed into the spot next to Martin and exhaled all of the tension in his body, sinking into the fabric. Despite knowing they intended to sleep, neither of them took their eyes off the other.

Martin’s heart raced, betraying the slowness of his breathing. When was the last time he had been this close to Jon? Close enough to count every last pockmark on his face, close enough to fall into his rich, endless brown eyes? When had Martin ever been close enough to feel Jon’s hand, so worn and beaten, reach up and brush across his cheek with all the gentleness in the world? He choked out a sob. 

“Oh, Martin,” Jon sighed, pulling him closer. “What’s wrong?”

The softness in his voice, so quiet and full of affection, only made Martin break down further. Everything he had yearned for was right here in front of him—holding him tightly and whispering into his hair. Martin inhaled, sobbing again when his head was filled with his partner’s scent, the sheer volume of it slamming into him.

“How could  _anything_ be wrong, Jon?” Martin asked, smiling as he wiped his tears. He pushed his face into the space below Jon’s neck, shutting out the world that had kept them apart for far too long. When he spoke, his lips grazed against scarred skin.

“You’re here. And... and you’re with me.”

Jon felt a wave of heat take him over from the inside. Carefully, he tilted Martin’s head upward just enough to kiss his forehead, feeling something indescribable at the way the body wrapped in his arms shuddered and melted into him when he did so. 

“I’m here,” Jon echoed, rubbing circles on Martin’s back. “I’m here with you.”

Just enough sunlight poked through the part in the curtains to cast the whole bed in a warm haze. Sleep came easier and stayed longer— both of them slept well into the day, but couldn’t bring themselves to care. Nothing felt better after all the torment than soft sheets and each other’s embrace, with no expectations or immediate threat. All that mattered was the heartbeat Martin heard leaning against Jon’s chest, the smell of Martin’s hair as Jon combed through it. After months of barely speaking, let alone touching, every moment of contact left them with a dizzying, overwhelming sense of peace, expressible only through sighs and pulling each other closer. 

Every hour or so, a mumbled, half-awake conversation would play out, debating if it was time to start the day. Each time, they agreed that staying entangled with each other was far more desirable than whatever needed to be done beyond the confines of the bed. 

It was Martin who finally caved, waking up to see the hills outside bathed in late afternoon’s light. 

“Alright, it’s time to get up,” he said gently, tucking some of Jon’s hair behind his ear.

“Why?” Jon whined. He pushed his face further into the pillows. “We could just stay here.”

Martin let out a small laugh. “Yeah, but we need to finish unpacking. Plus, I’m getting hungry.”

With a resigned groan, Jon sat up and stretched, his arms reaching up and behind his head. “If you insist.”

Perhaps rather impulsively, Martin latched onto Jon’s exposed waist, grinning when he heard a soft chuckle and felt a hand rest on his hip.

“What’re you doing?” Jon asked, amused. He ran his hand along Martin’s side the way one might pet a cat. “I thought we were getting up.”

Martin hummed pensively, his face fully nuzzled into the side of Jon’s abdomen. 

“Yeah, I know,” he said, clinging tighter. “I just want to savor it.”

Jon guided him to sit up and returned the embrace properly. He buried his face into Martin’s shoulder, breathing deeply and refusing to budge.

When they eventually did get out of bed, Martin decided to fully investigate the house. He took stock of everything still edible in the cabinets and fridge, which wasn’t a lot. There was plenty of firewood stacked up in the living room, and he even found a drop ladder to an attic in the spare bedroom. 

Martin walked in to relay all of this to Jon, and saw he had pulled the tape recorder from his backpack. The sight of the machine couldn’t help but remind Martin of why they were here, hiding away from all the trouble back at the Institute. It made his stomach churn, but the way Jon looked at him and assured that they would be okay settled him just as well. 

Reminded of how they still had to eat, and that Basira had yet to hear from them, Martin zipped up his jacket and pulled on his shoes. He looked back at Jon, now lazily curled up on the sofa. Naturally, his heart swelled.

“You’ll be okay here?”

“I’ll be fine.”

* * *

“How’s the house? Nothing too freaky there?”

Martin chuckled and leaned against the side of the phone booth, twirling the coiled payphone cord around his finger. “No, it’s quite nice, actually! We’re, uh, settling in well. Thank you again, by the way.”

“It was nothing, don’t worry,” Basira said, waving him off. “But, uh... how are you two, just in general?”

Her tone was uncharacteristically light, like she was sitting back in her chair with her feet on the desk. Martin stared out through the windows of the phone booth, baffled. His fiddling came to a stop.

“I-I mean, good? Laying low? We only got here last night, so—”

“Not like  _that_ , Martin,” Basira groaned. “I mean... are you guys...?”

Confused, Martin drew in his arms and crossed them as best he could while holding a phone. “‘Are we...’ what?”

Basira made an  _ugh!_ sound somewhere between frustration and amusement. “Don’t play dumb. I saw the way Jon looked at you when he brought you back up from the tunnels. It was  _hilarious_ —  he looked, like, two seconds away from making out with you even though you were super out of it.”

The immediate aftermath of his rescue was all hazy, so he couldn’t speak to the accuracy of her account, but imagining an expression like that on Jon’s face, directed at  _him_... Well, it was enough for Martin to lose his focus, that was for sure. Basira, however, just kept going. 

“I don’t know if going into a fear’s domain just... _does_ that to you, but I know Daisy let go of Jon as soon as she got out of the coffin. But you were holding onto him like your life depended on it. Also, you sound  _worlds_ better than you have in the last few months. So you can’t really fault me for making assumptions.”

“O-Okay,” Martin began, his face and ears ablaze. “First of all, that’s our business, a-and I don’t have to tell you anything about it.”

Basira snickered in such a way that made her expression vivid in Martin’s mind. 

“Fair enough,” she said. “But just to remind you, I  _am_ providing you with some  _extremely_ confidential information—”

“—My  _relationship status_ isn’t analogous to that!” Martin hissed, leaning into the corner of the phone booth, away from the door.

“—So I think I should get  _one_ question as compensation,” Basira continued, her tone decidedly in the realm if playful teasing. “And I’m not comparing the two, just... swapping them, let’s say.”

Martin groaned. He pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses out of place. “ _Fine_ . Yes, we’re... uh... D-dating, I guess? I mean, we kinda went straight to living together, but...”

“I knew it!” Basira said triumphantly. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you were never exactly good at hiding your crush on him. Guess it finally worked out for you.”

“I— Yeah, it did,” Martin sighed, accepting the blows, however light they were. Though he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t enjoying this, at least a little bit. He’d never got to talk about relationships in the hushed, giddy way that teenagers loved to when he was younger, so he may as well let it happen now. “All it took was a six-month coma and me getting swept up in a pyramid scheme.”

Basira barked out a laugh. Now that Martin thought about it, she probably needed this, too. 

“Honestly, he was so oblivious. But as soon as he woke up, he was all  ‘ _what happened to Martin, where is he, what’d Peter do to him?_ ’”

“W-wait, was he?” Martin covered his mouth, hiding the embarrassed smile that spread across it. 

“Oh, yeah. Every time one of us mentioned running into you, he’d pelt us with questions about how you were doing. It got old  _so_ fast.”

“Oh my god,” Martin giggled and shook his head. “I’m sorry you all had to deal with that mess.”

Over the phone, Basira had gotten up and was pacing the room. “Yeah, well, you’re together now, so mission accomplished, right? And speaking of which...”

“Aren’t we already speaking of it?”

“Smartass,” Basira retorted. “So, if memory serves, there’s two bedrooms in that cabin. What’s the situation like there?”

“ _Basira!_ ” Martin cried, nearly leaping right out of the phone box. His face flushed bright red and Basira laughed uproariously from the other end. “Now that  _really_ isn’t any of your business!”

“You’re right, it’s not,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant as she calmed down. “But I can tell you  want to talk about it.” 

Martin huffed, but it quickly devolved into breathy chuckling. “Well, we, uh— tried sleeping separately, but...” 

“You got lonely?”

“...Something like that,” he said, looking down at his shoes. “So we kind of went right to sharing a bed, too.”

“A—dorable,” Basira replied, her tone shifting back to business matters as quickly as it had before. “So, I was planning on sending you two off with some statements just so Jon doesn’t go around... getting his own... but it’s an absolute mess down here, and I couldn’t get them to you before you left. Hopefully the police’ll all be out of the archives by the weekend, so I’ll try and send them then, if I can.”

Martin nodded, before remembering she couldn’t see him do so. “Okay, cool. Should I call again, same time next week?”

“Sure, I’ll talk to you then.”

* * *

The wood that had been piled high next to the fireplace caught easily, probably from years of sitting in this dry, dusty house. Jon drew the hearth doors shut and stood up, surveying the room. He had never been the type to do a deep clean on impulse, but seeing the visible dirt on the walls and layers of dust on the ceiling fan sent him into a frenzy as soon as Martin left. 

Exhausted and reeking of cleaning chemicals, Jon put his faith in the fireplace and stepped away to take a shower. When he felt like he’d finally gotten the smell off, he opened the door to see Martin putting food in the fridge. 

He jumped and nearly dropped the carton of eggs he was holding, his face going scarlet. “ _Oh!_ H-hey, Jon!”

It took him a second to realize what had made Martin so flustered. Jon apologized and rushed to put on more than just a towel, laughing with his partner at how awkward both of them were. 

The stove creaked in protest when the burner knobs were turned, but miraculously still worked enough to cook over. After eating, the two of them sat down in front of the fireplace, the flames comparatively weaker than before. 

Jon was acutely aware of Martin’s eyes on him as he rebuilt the fire. He watched each new piece of wood burn, embers flaking off and falling to the floor. It captured him so much that he almost didn’t see a chill run through Martin out of the corner of his eye. Almost.

“You alright?” Jon asked, looking over his shoulder. “I can’t imagine that’s ‘cause you’re cold.”

On the contrary. Martin may as well have been in the fireplace itself. He hadn’t stopped picturing it— now that he’d seen Jon without a shirt on, he had become increasingly aware of his physicality. All he could see when he looked at his partner’s back was the rippling of shoulder blades as his arms moved, the way his chest rose and fell as he breathed. Even his hair was still a little wet, framing his face in the slightest waves that came down to his shoulders. Martin was pulled from his daydream, the air rushing from his lungs. 

“N-no, I’m fine, it’s just...” Slowly, breathlessly, he met Jon’s eyes. “You’re beautiful.”

Jon was at a complete loss for words, redness spreading across his face. Martin hid a smile behind his hand, swallowed up by the cuff of his sweater. The act seemed to relax Jon enough for him to reach over and pull him closer.

They sat together in front of the fire, looking into its heat. Martin felt the same heat inside his chest, and only ignited it further by leaning into Jon’s side. His head fit perfectly in the dip of his partner's shoulder.

Jon thought he was going to explode. Martin’s presence surrounded him, close enough to smell his breath on every exhale, and close enough to feel it against his skin. Jon’s heart skipped so forcefully that it left a violent pang in his chest, and any thoughts he might have had that didn’t involve Martin went up in the literal smoke rising before them. He slipped one arm around his boyfriend’s waist, closing the gap between their bodies. 

Martin inhaled deeply and involuntarily, shaking slightly as he pressed into the contact. Following a path that would bring them closer still, Martin clung to Jon’s opposite shoulder, draping himself over his form and curling into his neck. Every touch felt momentous, world-changing in the amount of buildup behind it. Martin’s heart pounded, still apparently unconvinced as he felt Jon place his hand over it. All was still for one intense moment. Neither of them moved, and breaths were held, making the hisses and crackling of the fire seem much louder than it had been before.

Jon carefully pinched Martin’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting his head from his shoulder and allowing their eyes to meet. Faced with a gentle gaze and plump, freckled cheeks, Jon was thoroughly taken aback. How had he never realized just how  _beautiful_ Martin was? Maybe it was because he had always looked away too quickly, trying to avoid it. But now, with those hazel eyes so close, reflecting gold firelight back at him, Jon could barely contain himself.

“Martin,” he said, almost whispering.

His partner shivered. Jon’s voice cradled his name with such intimacy, such desire. Martin took as deep a breath as he could. He didn’t dare look away.

“Jon.”

He spoke no words in response, but the way his gaze slowly, agonizingly drifted down said it all. Jon looked at Martin’s lips just as they rolled over his tongue, revealing their fullness and making them glint in the light cast beside him. Reeling from how close they were, Jon carefully stroked Martin’s lower lip with his thumb.  Martin closed his eyes, silently pleading for release. He grasped the nape of Jon’s neck, prompting a sharp inhale and luring their foreheads together. Jon slowly and deliberately moved his hand to cup the side of Martin’s face. He pushed back into it, sighing blissfully. 

The warmth of his breath was lost in the surrounding heat from the fire, but with their lips so close together, Jon still felt the air from Martin’s mouth rush into his own. He closed his eyes and followed its trail. 

The moment Martin felt Jon’s lips close around his, everything fell away. He had imagined this scene so many different ways, spun countless red threads in his mind, never dreaming any of them would be realized in the light of day—or fire. Months of lost time, fleeting moments and pained, lingering gazes... He’d known in his heart that Jon loved him, too. But acknowledging it when he had been wrapped in Peter’s scheme was never an option. He wouldn’t have been able to withstand that level of heartache.

Then, as soon as he was taken, Jon went after him. Saved him, _rescued_ him. All that time Martin had spent trying to push him away for his own safety, and he still followed him into danger. Hell, Jon literally _killed_ for him. 

And now, hundreds of miles away, all of that passion and devotion could manifest in this shabby cottage, holding each other in front of the hearth, kissing against the sounds and glow of a crackling fire.

It was breathless, urgent. Jon tried to take things slowly, wanting their first kiss to be clean and perfect, but his hunger quickly overtook him. Thankfully, Martin felt the same need and caught every collision of their lips, giving as much as he received. He leaned in almost desperately, as though diverting his attention for even a second would leave him alone again.

Jon angled his head to accommodate the closeness, kissing with such zealotry it made his head light. Martin was clinging to him, his hands drifting across his back and through his hair. The way his body followed their pattern, pulled marginally inwards and back out with the motions of his lips, only made Jon more ardent in his endeavor. He slid one arm under Martin’s and traced his spine with the other. Now that their bodies were fully facing each other, there was virtually no space between them. 

Martin had never allowed himself to wonder what the subject of his desire might taste like, so when he dared to slip his tongue into Jon’s mouth, it was utterly dizzying. He probed cautiously, worried that at any point he would be denied. But Jon only opened more, a slight moan escaping him. Martin’s breath hitched. As he retrieved himself, his head spun knowing he had elicited such a response. He only took a moment to breathe, the corners of his lips curling at the way his partner gasped for air, before going right back in. This time, he kissed with his mouth opened wider, welcoming any advances. 

Instantly, Jon took the invitation, exploring with a sense of euphoria strong enough to carry him away. His hands stayed firmly where they were, intent on keeping Martin close. The only way Jon could have described the feeling of having the man he loved safe in his arms, in his mouth, was if he likened it to heaven, but even that wouldn’t be right. Knowing that this was only the first of countless times he would find himself consumed by Martin’s smell, his breath, his  _taste_ — it sent him far beyond anything conceivable as heaven. 

Jon had a new energy to him, kissing with more force. It wasn’t frenzied like before, but rather calculated, like he had an objective. Buzzing with the thought of what it might be, Martin relaxed his body and gave him free reign. In no time at all, Jon had him lying on the floor, hardwood chilling his back through the rug while the fire next to them roared. Only then did he pull away.

Martin stared, completely struck by the impassioned look in his lover’s eyes. Jon crouched over him, equally in awe. His skin caught the light in a hypnotizing display, each scar casting shadows that danced across the red-orange tones he’d been washed in. He propped himself up, planting his hands on either side of Martin’s head, long hair falling in a curtain around his face. Jon’s heart seized up. The image of Martin lying beneath him, his eyes wide and fervent, was enough to send him over the edge.

“I’ve wanted you... for so long,” he said breathlessly.

Martin threw his head back, struggling to maintain any level of composure. Those words were all he had ever dreamed of hearing— he was falling deeper in love by the second, ready for whatever they entailed.

“And you have me,” he gasped, his heart racing. He had never been more sure of anything in his life. “All of it.”

Jon sat up, sliding his hands down Martin’s chest as he did so. Even with a layer of fabric between them, Martin shuddered at the touch and what its trajectory spoke to. He hadn’t expected them to go this far so quickly, but it’s not like he had expected any of what had happened in the past two days. As Jon’s hands met the hem of his sweater and finally made contact with his skin, Martin let out a sigh so full of pleasure it shook his body. 

When nothing happened, though, he opened his eyes and saw Jon glance down nervously at where his hands were seemingly headed. Even the fire’s glow surrounding them couldn’t hide the deep mauve his face turned. He opened his mouth slightly, looking unsure of what to say. 

Something clicked. Martin lightly placed a hand on Jon’s waist. “Unless you’re not ready?”

Jon blinked in surprise for a moment, then shook his head with a chuckle.

“No, it’s not that,” he said, his tone approaching amusement. “I just... don’t.”

“Don’t? At all?” Martin asked gently. 

“No,” Jon responded. He looked to the side and scratched at his neck, the slightest bit of embarrassment on his face. “Just doesn’t feel right. Don’t like it.”

Martin placed his hand over the one still on his stomach, stroking the back of it with his thumb.

“That’s okay,” he murmured, meaning it with his whole heart. He couldn’t imagine feeling anything else— all he’d wanted had already come true. No matter how far they went, he was still hopelessly in love, and nothing would change that.

The relaxed and overwhelmingly tender expression Martin looked at him with fought off any of the apprehension still in Jon’s mind, and he gave him a warm, grateful smile.

“If you don’t mind, though,” he said after a moment, sliding his hands under Martin’s sweater. The faint, surprised cry that he let out made Jon’s heart sing. “I  _would_ like to get this out of the way.” 

Martin lifted his head slightly to look at him. He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, would you?”

Sensing his playful tone, Jon smirked and leaned in further so their faces were mere inches apart. The skin under his fingers felt impossibly soft and warmer than the air around them. 

“Of course,” he purred. His hands continued to travel upward, sending chills through Martin’s whole body. “A wool jumper, this close to the fire? You certainly look _hot_.”

“Was that a  _pun?_ ” Martin giggled, blushing despite himself.

Jon’s eyes flashed mischievously. “Maybe.”

Feeling some mix of confusion and delight, Martin positioned his elbows underneath him and brought his face up to Jon’s. “Since when were you such a flirt?”

“Depends,” he pondered. Under the fabric, he drew snaking lines on Martin’s abdomen with the tip of his finger. “Since when were you such a good kisser?”

Taken by surprise, Martin’s act crumbled, replaced by a bashful smile. He looked down, and when he spoke, peeking up through his lashes, his words were hushed.

“You really think so?”

Jon hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath until it came rushing out of him, pushed by the broiling heat that spread through his chest at the look his lover gave him. 

“ _God_ , you drive me mad,” he murmured.

With renewed energy, Jon lunged forward, catching Martin just as he inhaled. He kissed without any rhyme or reason and changed pace as he saw fit, forcing Martin to keep up and slow down on the fly. Jon reveled in every moan or sigh that he heard, be it from pleading or pleasure.

Finally, Martin sat up to his level. He broke away from the kiss and clutched one of Jon’s hands in his. Martin didn’t break eye contact as he carefully positioned the hand on his bare skin, pushing the sweater he wore out of the way. 

“Take it,” he panted. 

Jon’s eyes lit up, and urgency overtook him. He was almost salivating as he pulled the fabric away, revealing Martin’s skin and casting it in the same golden glow as his face. Jon couldn’t help but stare as Martin wrestled himself from the garment, hair flouncing as it was freed.

Martin followed Jon and looked down at his body. Normally, he did his best not to think too much about its size or shape, but now, with his partner’s eyes resting on the bulk of him, he found that self-consciousness had spread on his face. 

He gave a slight chuckle. “Not exactly sculpted, I know...”

“Shhh.” Jon lifted a finger to Martin’s lips, his gaze transfixed. He spoke in a low, sensual tone that made his thoughts on the matter clear as his hand drifted down. “Let me look at you.”

Martin felt a chill run through him, and as his lover finally touched his chest, his heart stalled. Jon examined him thoroughly, smoothing his hands over velveteen skin and marveling at the warmth emanating from it. He had never thought about whether Martin’s freckles were only confined to his face, but now he saw they dusted his shoulders, chest and arms as well. Jon danced his fingers across them, each feather-light tap giving momentum to the next as if he were playing an instrument. Though he was certain the exalted, shaking breaths of the one he admired were preferable to any music Jon might have played. 

He trekked further, caressing each roll of skin that lined Martin’s abdomen. The larger folds of his stomach were particularly tempting, and Jon ran a gentle finger along them, putting his whole hand down when he got to Martin’s side in order to grasp him by the hip. 

This whole time, Martin had kept his eyes shut. The gratification he felt was so all-encompassing, he worried how much of it he would be able to handle if he watched it happen, too. When Jon rested his hands on the bit of fat just below his chest, though, the rush Martin got was almost enough to open them. His body was blazing, every one of his limbs weak. 

In many ways, Martin had been lying dormant for months. Under the rule of utter emptiness, his body and mind had gone inexplicably blank. But being here, held in Jon’s touch, he gasped with the voracity of one being brought back from the dead. His heart pounded into his ribs, ready to leap into the hands of the one it belonged to. 

Jon pushed his hands up and spread his thumbs from fingers, cupping his partner’s breasts from underneath. Martin surged and his eyes flew open, if only for a moment. The hands laid on him were still, waiting for his approval before going further. He closed his eyes and relaxed into them to provide it. Jon’s grip tightened.

“Look at me,” he whispered. His tone almost made it an order. 

Martin leaned against him, their foreheads touching. His eyes practically filled Jon’s field of view— the depth of their want boring into him. 

“Do it,” Martin begged, barely audible under his breath.

When Jon closed in on the flesh in his hands and squeezed, he got everything he’d hoped for— Martin moaned, shuddered, and lurched, falling perfectly into his arms. His body had gone limp, completely spent. Jon held him dearly, admiring his work as Martin heaved against him. 

“You okay?” He asked softly, speaking into the tumbling brown curls that tickled his face. Jon punctuated his inquiry with a kiss behind Martin’s ear. 

For a moment the only sounds were that of the fire.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Martin finally sighed, devolving into a weak laugh. He looked at Jon, delirious and awestruck. “You’re incredible. How’d you  _do_ that?” 

“No idea,” Jon admitted, running a hand down Martin’s back. “I sort of improvised.” 

Martin snickered at that, a light, airy sound thanks to his exhaustion. He nuzzled into the dip of Jon’s exposed collarbone, breathing in as deeply as he could. 

Even after tasting him, Martin couldn’t resist that smell. With every wave of it he burned this moment into his mind, forever capturing it in the sound of the fire, in whiffs of tea tree and sandalwood, in the malleability of his own body as it rested in Jon’s embrace.  He pressed a kiss to the skin under his lips, his head filled with the urge to make the one he loved feel even a fraction of the pleasure he had been given. 

Jon couldn’t fully express the satisfaction that had come over him. Even with Martin’s weight pressing against him, he felt as though he were floating. Knowing that he had directly brought about what now had Martin cradled limply in his arms, holding onto him for stability and leaving a trail of kisses on his clavicle— it gave Jon more of a sense of pride than anything he’d felt before. 

He drew his arms closer, placing a hand on the back of Martin’s head. His breath nearly scorched from how dense and hot it had gotten, but that did nothing to stop Jon from wanting to steal it all over again. If anything, he needed it more now.

But he would have to be patient. Martin was slowly making his way to his partner’s mouth, kissing him with repose now rather than fatigue. He tilted his head when he approached the neck and leaned in a bit further. 

Jon responded exactly how he wanted, craning his head back and sighing. Hearing his name carried along it set off fireworks in Martin’s head. He only clung tighter in response— any distance between their bodies felt like miles.

When he finally reached his destination, Martin didn’t wait. Jon shivered, sitting up straight and kissing back with matching intensity. Soft folds of skin gave into his touch as he ran his hands up and down Martin’s back, grasping at it and pinching it between his fingers.

Martin was filled to the brim. Completely taken, every inch of him putty in Jon’s hands, his heart beat wildly, screaming  _finally, finally, finally_ with every pulse. It swelled until his chest was full, pushing and pushing until it spilled out of his mouth before Martin even had a chance to pull away from the kiss.

“I love you,” he gasped, his lips still halfway in Jon’s mouth. Martin didn’t go another second before kissing him again, like he needed him more than air itself. “ _God_ , I love you.” 

Jon shook when the words were breathed into him, their passion carrying so much more weight in the present tense. The beginnings of a reciprocation tried to form in his throat, only to come out as a weak moan when Martin kissed him again, taking all the air from his lungs with desperation. 

They separated, staring into one another with wonder. A string of saliva hung from Martin’s mouth, dangling about as he breathed heavily. Carefully, Jon brushed the corner of his partner’s lip, wet and bright pink with exertion, and collected the spit on his thumb. He maintained eye contact as he brought it to his mouth and licked it clean. Martin inhaled sharply, his pupils dilated enough to nearly obscure any color. 

“I love you,” he whispered again. A faint, breathless laugh escaped him. “I can’t stop saying it.”

“Then don’t,” Jon said gently, returning his hand to Martin’s face and planting a kiss on his forehead to emphasize the point. His head swam with that same franticness that had plagued him since he first realized he felt the same way Martin did. “How long have you wanted to?”

Martin chuckled again, looking down as his cheeks grew red. “Only, ah... a couple years now.”

Jon’s jaw dropped. “ _Years?_ ”

“I guess so, yeah,” he replied, smiling shyly and taking Jon’s hand in both of his. “More or less since I met you.”

“But... I- I was— I was  _horrible_ to you,” Jon stammered. His voice was painfully small. All the insults, all the eye-rolls, and he’d had no idea the target of his disdain had such affection for him. 

“Love is weird,” Martin shrugged. He swept away the hair in Jon’s face, remembering all the times he’d wanted so desperately to do so before. “Part of me thought it would go away after a while, but I just... kept falling for you.”

He said all of this with the warmest of smiles, his gaze soft and harboring so much love it hurt. Jon felt ready to burst. He slung his arms over Martin’s neck and came in close, tears blurring the edges of his vision. 

“I am  _so_ glad you did.”

Martin closed the gap and kissed him slowly. His arms encircled Jon’s waist, guiding him into his lap, where he readily settled. Compared to the vibrant, dynamic kisses they’d shared only minutes before, this one felt soft and delicate, meant to comfort. Jon sighed into it, holding tightly and letting his lips loosen. Martin’s tongue lolled over his with a level of care that made Jon’s heart ache. 

No wonder there was so much love behind every caress, every expression of ecstasy when Jon so much as touched him. Martin felt every emotion with complete sincerity, and knowing now that he had been enamored all this time had Jon stumbling, trying to catch himself as he fell ever harder. 

“I love you,” he breathed, parting just enough to look at Martin as he said so. Seeing him smile wider, his eyes crinkling enough to force out tears of their own, Jon heard himself laugh softly. He pressed his face to Martin’s, feeling its warmth and the plushness of his cheeks clash with his own sharp, marred features. They fit together like nothing else ever could.

“Say it again,” Martin whispered, kissing his lower lip. 

Exhilarated by the command, Jon wrapped his legs around his partner’s hips and pressed further. 

“I love you,” he said once more, his heart burning with the truth of the words.

Martin kissed the corner of his mouth. “Again,” he purred.

“I love you.” 

The space below his nose. “Again.”

“I love you.”

With each new vow, Martin rewarded him, until Jon’s whole face had been peppered with the soft touch of his lips. His professions were quickly lost to heavy, gasping breaths, but their meaning was only bolstered. Martin also began to run out of steam, the time between his kisses stretching as he, too, struggled to get enough air.

As soon as they withdrew, Martin shivered. Not with any kind of pleasure, though, as Jon noticed his jaw quiver the tiniest amount. He looked around for the jumper he’d been wearing, but his eyes landed on the blanket bunched up on the sofa before anything else. 

“Here,” Jon murmured. Regrettably, he had to climb out of Martin’s lap to reach it. With one swift motion he threw the blanket over his boyfriend’s shoulders, pulling it taut in the front as though he were fastening some kind of cape. “Better?”

Martin hummed and regarded Jon for a moment. Silver-streaked hair, tousled about from Martin’s fingers running through it. Dark brown cheeks, flushed plum with how breathless Martin had made him. And those eyes that were deep enough to hold the universe, zeroed in on him, only him. 

Before Jon could react, Martin scooped him up in his arms, bringing him into his shell of body heat the throw was already producing. Jon gasped in surprise and clung to him. Satisfied, Martin uncrossed his legs and lowered himself back down onto the floor, until he was laying on his side and facing the fireplace. 

“Better,” he said proudly. 

Jon giggled, a sound Martin didn’t even know he could make, and leaned into his chest. His vision was flooded with pink, freckled skin, the musk of something like vanilla wafting off of it. Behind him, the fire still burned, and its heat reached Jon’s back through what little of the blanket hadn’t encompassed him. He studied the constellations in the spots on Martin’s body, lazily tracing them with his finger. Rather than exciting him, these touches left Martin sighing, his form relaxed and sinking into the floor with content. 

Hearing such a response, so decidedly loving in its nature, Jon began to kiss his chest. Lightly, and taking time so as not to get carried away, he stroked whatever spots his lips didn’t wander to. Martin made an alluring sound somewhere between a moan and a pleased hum, arching his back slightly to push himself into the contact. Jon kissed him even as his body grew heavy with exhaustion. He couldn’t help but revel in Martin’s closeness, now that he had Jon fully surrounded and his warmth rivaled that of the fireplace. 

It would have been ignorant to say they were completely safe, of course. Jon knew that. But as Martin’s breathing slowed and he unconsciously pulled him closer, fear lost all its meaning. He entwined himself with the one he loved, fully drowning in him. 

This was what he had been kept from all this time. This safety and security, this overwhelming love he was finally able to express. Jon had suffered so dearly for it, and if he had to again, he would without a second thought. 

But Peter’s words stuck with him. Elias had put so much on the line to tempt him into whatever deal the two had made. Everything else, Jon could have dealt with, but his stomach churned and twisted when he remembered Martin had been used as nothing more than a bargaining chip. If he had his way, Elias would pay dearly for that. 

For now, though, he was content to sigh into Martin’s skin and listen to his heartbeat. Their legs tangled together, sliding over each other slowly, more to savor the contact than anything else. Jon had no conception of how much time they would have here, but if it was all going to be spent like this, he wouldn’t mind in the slightest if it lasted forever.

**Author's Note:**

> listen with that much tension built up can you really blame them? i cant. i wrote this.
> 
> I hope this little ditty was enjoyable!! kudos and comments always make my day, so please please leave me your reactions if you’d like! 
> 
> as always if you wanna chat about tma or anything at all, feel free to reach out to me on discord! im @diamondchili#3539! 
> 
> seeya in the next one, friends! 🌸💙


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